Butterfly Effect
by Libek
Summary: An alternate universe. See if you can spot what's changed. Implications of dark, unhealthy Jade/Nebilim.


It's amazing how much one choice changes everything.

Dr. Jade Balfour is a man much-acclaimed. He has done so much for the world, and the world is deeply, truly grateful. There is, he sometimes mentions when he is interviewed, even a holiday for him in some parts of the world -- although of course modesty prevents him from celebrating it himself. His humble origins are known by all, and he is admired by every man, woman, and child on Auldrant. That Dr. Balfour is a good and decent man is the one thing upon which even the warring nations of Kimlasca and Malkuth can agree.

In his rare private interviews, he is everything the citizens of Auldrant could wish him to be -- charming, affable, answering even rather personal questions with grace. When one man asked him years ago for more details on his plans for the top-secret project rumored to be called _Fomicry_, he only laughed kindly and politely refused to go into more detail at that time.

Little children love him, public officials are desperate for his endorsement, and beautiful women half his age have been known to throw themselves at his feet. He should not be alone, should not attend the most prestigious parties on his own, but he is, and he does.

Except, of course, for when he comes with one particular pale woman on his arm.

It's only natural that one of his interviewers would think to ask who she is, but today he was only scheduled to discuss his recent efforts at fundraising with a nice young representative from Daath, and between sips of champagne, he lets his guard down. And she seizes the opportunity, leaning forward in her seat.

"So, Dr. Balfour," she begins, "who is that beautiful woman we see so frequently on your arm these days? A little older than you, isn't she? What is her name again?"

She watches him go still, watches him smile. Perhaps she will even remember it later, but he is about to distract her effectively. "No more questions today, I'm afraid," he tells her brightly. "I do have work to do, you know."

It is not much of a deflection, but he smiles as he says it, and he has a very nice smile. So his interviewer laughs, appreciative, and stands, smoothing her skirt, to shake his hand firmly. She even thanks him for his time.

Like everyone else on Auldrant, she adores Dr. Jade Balfour in spite of herself.

*

Jade hated ending the interviews early, but at least he was fairly confident that he had given the girl enough to keep her happy -- and even if he hadn't, even avoiding the topic completely had to be marginally less suspicious than staring off into space for several minutes while he attempted, yet again, to think of an answer.

The basement would be cool this time of day, its deep shadows and halogen lights soothing, and he took the stairs two at a time to reach the labs below.

He had written off this afternoon, assuming that his interview with the woman who had introduced herself as Celia Arnett would take all his time. As such, there was nothing else on his schedule, no projects he was precisely in the middle of, and nothing that needed researching. There was, in short, no reason for him to venture into his labs at all. But he wanted to be down here, among his formulae, his chemicals and his theories.

"Jade, what are you doing back so soon? Did something happen?"

He wanted to be down here, with her.

The world loved Dr. Balfour. She alone out of all the creatures in it loved _him_, and as he felt his arms wind around his waist, her round chin settling softly into the crook of his neck, he ceased being Dr. Balfour and became instead the child he had been so many, many years again. Not a doctor, not a scientist, only Jade Balfour, the orphan boy _she_ had once taken in.

Jade relaxed back into her, letting her slender but powerful body support the weight. "They asked about you again," he admitted quietly. "You've been on my arm too many times at too many parties, I'm afraid."

He could feel her frown against his throat while she considered how best to reply. "What did you tell them?"

"What _can_ I tell them?" he asked instead, morose. "They'll want to know your lineage, your history, how we first met. There are no easy answers to those questions."

She laughed, tightening her grip on him. It hurt. "There are very easy answers," she corrected him. "They just aren't _pretty_."

Jade held very still, counting heartbeats. When he had ten of them, he made a dismissive noise and corrected her, flatly: "I'm sure you meant to say that they aren't _possible_. Don't be ridiculous, my dear. Those things don't belong to you. Even your name isn't _really_ your name at all."

The casual barb sent a tremor through her body; he felt it, heard it in her quavering voice. "Jade--"

He didn't let it stop him. "You aren't her, after all. And you never will be. Perhaps," he continued mercilessly, adopting a tone of faux-thoughtful consideration, "I could try telling them you're only an empty-headed little toy. They needn't trouble themselves with remembering your name, because once I've tired of you, they may rest assured that they will never see you again--"

This time she dug her fingers in deliberately, and he heard the cloth shred, felt his skin split. The burst of pain that came with was -- a welcome distraction, and he closed his eyes, smiling a faint, numb smile that was very little like the benign mask the rest of the world saw.

It wasn't quite that he liked to hurt her, but he rarely resisted the urge, and never regretted having done it.

Meanwhile, _she_ was instantly sorry for what little damage she'd caused him, dipping her head to lick through the rips in his clothing like a mother wolf with an injured pup. She was a monster, talons where fingernails should have been, but even in her animalistic moments, there was more feeling, more humanity, than he--

"It's all right," he told her, quieter and therefore seemingly more gentle. "I deserved that, I think."

He could feel the brittle steel of what _looked_ so much like human hair brushing abrasively against his shoulder as she shook her head. "Darling boy," she murmured. "Of course you didn't. You didn't say anything that isn't true." Her voice has lost some of its conviction by the end, duller with resignation. Like a wooden puppet come to life, she wanted to be but knew she wasn't real.

Jade turned in her grasp, and his finely-tailored suit tore further. He paid it no heed. What he wanted (what she needed) was a kiss, quick and hot and wet and more real, more _human_, than either of them would ever be. He broke the kiss to breathe, and kissed her again, only more intent. She was smiling by this point, and eager when he finally released her to go down on her knees, to undo his silk slacks and drag his heated flesh free.

It was a trifle more urgent than usual. He leaned back against a formerly-sterile table and let his head fall forward, almost losing his glasses in the process; he squeezed the edge of the table until his hands went numb and his knuckles white, silent except for the labored breathing he could not help -- and she licked a hot trail over the dark vein in his erection; she nuzzled his flesh and then drank him down inch by inch, working the muscles in her throat to heighten his pleasure; and when he lost himself ever so slightly in her warm velvet mouth, beginning to thrust with hunger, she went still as she knew she should.

While he caught his breath, she eased back with bright eyes, waiting as he shivered and slowly straightened. She had kept her grip as loose as possible, only holding onto his hips, but he could still feel the sting and knew he was bleeding. He smiled again, and this one was less numb, more like the smile the rest of the world saw. Courteously, he pulled her to her feet.

It wasn't quite that he loved her, but he mimicked it as best he could, and in moments like this one, he liked to have her nearer.

He liked to call her by the name that was not hers, and yet belonged so much more to her than it ever had to the woman she so closely resembled. That woman had been _Professor_; _Ma'am_; anything but the name he could never have uttered without blushing awkwardly.

"Gelda," he said, his voice rough. "Thank you."

She beamed at him beatifically, and he permitted her to kiss him then in a way that had nothing to do with sex. It was a rare moment.

*

Dr. Jade Balfour is a man much-acclaimed. He has done much for the world, and the world is grateful. Little children love him, public officials are desperate for his endorsement, and beautiful women half his age have, on occasion, been known to throw themselves at his feet. He should not be alone, but he is. His manor, and his bed, are most often empty, and he attends parties alone, except for when he comes with one particular pale girl on his arm.

He has no family, although he used to. He has no friends, although someone almost was, once. He is very much alone, and he honestly thinks he prefers it that way.

It's amazing how much one choice changes everything.


End file.
